


The Taste of Metal

by snarkymuch



Series: twisted around and backwards [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Electroconvulsive Therapy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 21:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: A one-shot from the series around my story Riding the Tiger.There are a lot of treatments for bipolar, some with more stigma than others, and there are some that Bucky won’t let Tony ever have. Bucky stumbles upon something that hits too close to home—bringing back memories of his time with Hydra. Sometimes protecting someone isn’t what you first thought it would be."They knew being with Tony would be hard, but it didn’t make it any easier when it came to watching him struggle. He was in a battle against his own mind and they couldn’t do anything other than stand beside him and watch the fight unfold, two of the world’s strongest soldiers rendered useless."





	The Taste of Metal

**Author's Note:**

> I know it may sound extreme, but ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy), is still commonly used--at least in the circles I run in, though I am a bit on the further end of the spectrum. I have friends from groups who had it change their lives. It has a terrible stigma and it really sucks that it does. Something that helps shouldn't make you feel ashamed. 
> 
> So, yeah, I went there. 
> 
> Tony isn't necessarily having ECT done in any of my stories, but I just wanted to bring it up, and I really wanted to write how Bucky would react to that. 
> 
> So, here it is. I hope you like it.

Bucky held the pamphlet in his hand; his eyes were fixed on the words in bold print across the top—Electroconvulsive Therapy. There was a picture of a smiling woman on the front. It seemed wrong and so out of place. It wasn’t like he was snooping when he found it. It had been sitting on a pile of folders in Tony’s workshop. He really hadn’t meant to pry when he read it.

 _Electroconvulsive_.

The word caused him to feel sick to his stomach, broken memories of Hydra, of the chair and compliance coming back to his mind.

With shaky hands, he opened it, eyes skimming over the words before him, only bits and pieces sticking out to him— _electric current, memory loss_ , _seizures_. His hands tightened around the too fragile paper, causing it to bend and buckle as it tore in his grasp.

His chest was too tight, and his body felt wrong—hot and cold at the same time. He may have been in the workshop of the compound, but his mind was not. His mind was back with Hydra, with the bite guards and the chair, with the metallic taste in his mouth and muscles that burned from seizing.

Visions of Tony strapped down as he convulsed flashed through his mind and bile rose in his throat. He fell forward, catching himself on the workbench, trying desperately to clear his mind. The battle against the rising tide of nausea was a losing one, though. It was just by sheer will power alone that he managed to pitch himself forward to the trashcan in time, grabbing it and hugging it to his chest as his stomach turned inside out.  

He didn’t understand—he couldn’t understand—why anyone would ever willingly subject themselves to something so close to torture. What if it changed him? What if he forgot them? It was barbaric and wrong to think that this could even be a treatment—a _therapy_ as the pamphlet said. He needed to find Steve, show him, make him understand, and then together they could talk to Tony before it was too late.

Tossing the trashcan back on the floor with a clunk, he hurried from the workshop to find Steve. When he’d seen him last, he was sketching in the alcove by the garden windows.

He rounded the corner of the hall, hands clenched tight in fists. The bitter taste of bile still in his mouth, reminding him too sharply of what he’d learned. Steve was where he’d left him, lounging back in the oversized chair, sketchbook in hand as he smudged charcoal against the paper. He looked up at his approach, his eyebrows raised and face questioning. “Buck?”

Bucky couldn’t seem to make himself answer, maybe it was the fear of what would happen if he tried. He was too close to the soldier within. He was too close to losing himself to the memories of the past, so instead, he charged forward with purposeful strides, the pamphlet in hand. He shoved it into Steve’s chest, holding it there, looking at his bewildered friend, urging him to take it.

Steve’s brow wrinkled in confusion, but he set the sketchbook down on his lap and took the pamphlet from Bucky’s grasp. He smoothed the damaged paper, examining the front, emotions flickering fast across his face. Bucky watched silently as he flipped it open and began to read, his eyes darting back and forth, his lips parting ever so slightly in shock.

“Where did you get this, Buck?”

He wanted to answer, but he could feel himself beginning to dissociate. He clenched his jaw, trying to control himself. He was no good to anyone if he lost himself to his past. He’d been doing so well. He’d come so far but finding the pamphlet had brought it all back. He was losing himself again, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop himself from slipping away.

Reality began to shift, and he wasn’t in the compound anymore. Pierce’s voice floated into his mind, clear and commanding, triggering feelings he'd forgotten—the pride of a job well done, the twisted need to comply.

_Your work has been a gift to mankind._

His body went rigid as faces drifted in and out. There were Hydra agents around him, Pierce was looking at him with cold, hard eyes, cutting through him. He felt fear bubbling up within himself as he knew this memory. He knew what was to come.

_Prep him._

The panic joined his fear as he felt hands grabbing his arms. The chair was steps away, waiting and taunting, ready to strip away his memories again. He tried to yank himself away from the hands. He couldn't go back. He wouldn't.

_Wipe him._

The remembered being shoved back to the chair, a bite guard going in his mouth, pain searing through his every nerve. The familiar taste of metal as he seized, and then the emptiness.

_Ready to comply._

He felt lost—alone, but then a familiar voice began to whisper faintly in the recesses of his mind. It wanted him to come back—it was calling to him. He wanted to listen, but he was a soldier— _the soldier_. He needed to comply, but the voice, it just wouldn’t stop. It didn't sound like his usual handlers. The voice was softer, kinder, yet still commanding. He almost thought that he recognized it from a dream.

The voice grew sharper and louder, more insistent. It kept repeating the same thing over and over.

 _Bucky_ … _Bucky_ …

“Buck!”

His eyes snapped open, and he looked around the room, trying to place where he was. Steve was standing in front of him, hands gripping him, lines of worry etching his face. “Are you with me?”

He nodded, flexing his metal hand, making the plates of his arm readjust. “Yeah, just got lost for a minute.”

Steve studied him for a moment but nodded, dropping his hands. “That hasn’t happened in a while.”

“No, I guess not,” he said, taking in the space around him, confirming to himself he wasn't back with Hydra, that the chair was gone, and he was safe. He drew a breath, running a hand through his hair. “What were we talking about?”

“I asked you where you found the pamphlet.”

He tensed as he recalled what he'd found—as earlier events came back to mind. “I found it in his workshop.” His gaze locked on Steve. He needed him to understand how serious this was. “Did you read it? Did you see what he’s considering? We can’t let him do that to himself.”

Steve glanced back at the folded paper and then back up to him. He pushed himself to stand, setting everything on the chair. He approached him carefully, cautiously, maybe seeing the feral glint he knew he had in his eye. “I read it. I didn’t know he was considering anything like that, but it’s not what you went through. It’s not the chair, Buck. You know that, right? We read about this in the book Rhodey gave us. It really does help some people.”

If he’d read about it, he didn’t remember—maybe because he dismissed it as something that would never happen. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt Tony like that. How could that be something safe or even legal? Why didn’t Steve get it? Why wasn’t he angry and scared? He wanted to throttle the punk for not understanding the severity of the situation.

His jaw ached from being clenched. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you're acting like this is okay. He wants to electrocute his brain, Stevie—his brain! Why aren’t you upset about this? Don’t you care what happens to him? Did you read the side effects?” He was shouting by the end and didn’t care who could hear. He just needed to make Steve understand.

Steve put up his hands, tipping his head ever so slightly as he spoke. “Listen, Buck. I get you’re upset, so I’m not gonna take the way you’re acting personally, but you need to calm down. People might hear you. Tony might hear you.” He paused, giving him an assessing look. Bucky scowled. “Look, you know I care just as much as you do, but did you really read that pamphlet or just see read the title and panic? Because if you read it, you’d know that it’s not necessarily dangerous or bad. It’s got risks, but it can be good, too.”

“I don’t want him going through that, Steve. He can’t.”

Steve sighed. “First, we don’t even know if he is going through with it, and second, why not if it helps? What if it’s what his doctor thinks he needs?”

Bucky stomped the few steps to Steve, jabbing a finger in his chest. “Then his doctor’s a quack. This is the kind of shit they would do back in our day, not now. They’re supposed to be smarter, better. Jesus, Steve, do you even get what you’re defending?”

“This isn’t our choice, Buck. Does he even know you found that?”

He looked away. “No, I came straight here.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to tell him, but first you need to calm down and get your head on straight. The only reason you’re so against this is because of what Hydra did, plain and simple. I know it isn’t fair, but you gotta try to find a way to look past what they did to you.”

Bucky huffed. “This is such bullshit, and you know it. There has to be another way to help him.”

“I’m not saying I like it, or I understand it completely, but I think we should both go talk to Tony. He deserves more than to have us out here talking like this.”

He didn’t want to make things worse. He knew he needed to calm down. He sighed, letting himself deflate a little. “Yeah, you’re probably right, but don’t let it go to your head. You’re still a stupid punk.”

They made a call to Friday and had her ask Tony to meet them in their bedroom. It was technically Tony’s bedroom, but they had all been sharing it for some time now. Things were still progressing slowly, but it helped Tony through his nightmares to have them close, and they were happy to oblige.

Bucky paced the room while Steve sat on the bed, hands clasped in his lap. After about ten minutes of waiting, the bedroom door opened, and Tony stepped inside. His gaze quickly flitted between him and Steve, the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown. He closed the door behind him and turned to face them, his hands going to his pockets.

“So, you wanted to talk?” He sounded unsure, and Bucky felt like crap for making him feel that way. He knew how deep Tony’s insecurities ran. “The other shoe finally dropping?”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “We aren’t leaving you, Tony. This isn’t that kind of talk, but it doesn’t mean you won’t be angry with me after.” He sighed. “This is about something else—something I didn’t have a right to see, but I did.”

Tony’s brow furrowed, and he drew an audible breath. “Okay, that sounds suitably ominous. What did you find?”

He looked to Steve for support; his friend nodded for him to continue.

“I found a pamphlet in your workshop. I wasn’t thinking when I picked it up, but once I did, I read it.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking to Tony whose face was tense. “Please tell me that you’re not serious, Tony. Tell me you aren’t considering going through with something like that? You’re talking about shocking your brain! I know what that does to a person better than anyone. Why would you even consider it? Why was it in your workshop?”

He watched Tony as he processed his words. He licked his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He rubbed at the five o’clock shadow on his face, still silent, his face etched with hard lines and difficult to read. They waited for him to respond, but he didn’t. He just stood there, rigid and staring off at the wall.

Steve stood. “Tony, you don’t have to explain yourself. Buck’s just having a hard time with it is all. I think you can understand why.”

Tony’s gaze flicked to Steve. He stared at him for a moment before looking back at Bucky. He pulled his hands from his pockets,  clenching them into fists at his sides. His shoulders were set tight, and his back was straight. He drew in a shaky breath before he spoke. “I get why you’re upset, but you don’t know what it’s like living in my head. I just wanted to know my options. That’s why it was there. That’s why I had it.”

Tony licked his lips nervously like he was considering something difficult. There was nothing to prepare Bucky for what he said next, though.

“Do you realize how many times a day I think about killing myself?” Tony asked. “How easy it would be? Pepper can be talking, and my mind just wanders, and a minute later, I’m calculating whether a fall from the window next to me would be enough to kill me. I can’t take anti-depressants because they cause mania—no one will give them to me. I was considering ECT because I don’t know what else to do. Because I’m telling you, Buck, I’m telling both you, I don’t know how to do this—I can’t do this.”

“Tony …” Bucky didn’t know what to say.

Tony shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about what’s going on in my head. I didn’t want to upset you. I was trying to protect you.” His hands went to his hair, tugging at the roots. “Look where that got me. I still fucked it up.” The man walked over to the sofa by the window, collapsing and putting his head in his hands, curling into himself.

It felt like his heart was getting crushed. He felt stupid for the way he'd reacted. He'd had no idea how Tony was feeling—that he was so desperate. The idea he thought so casually of ending his life terrified him to his core. He wished he could take his pain away and carrying it for him. He’d do it a thousand times over, and he knew Steve would, too.

Needing to comfort him, to do something, he crossed the room and crouched in front of him, putting a hand on his knee. He wanted to say something, but he was at a loss.

Steve walked over, taking a seat beside Tony. “Tony,” he prompted. “Can you talk to us, please?”

He heard Tony sniffle, and it was then he realized the man was crying.

Tony lifted his head, his eyes red and lashes wet with tears. “Why won’t it stop?” He sounded utterly broken, desperate. “I just want it to stop.”

“Why won’t what stop, doll?” Bucky reached out and wiped away a stray tear that rolled down his cheek.

Tony sucked in a breath. “My head. Lately it’s been so bad. The things I think about. It’s not good. I just wanted to find a way to make it stop. _I need it to stop_. I don’t want to die, not really, but I can’t stop thinking about the ways I could do it. What happens if I give in one day? What happens if it wears me down until I do?”

He heard Steve suck in a stuttering breath. They knew being with Tony would be hard, but it didn’t make it any easier when it came to watching him struggle. He was in a battle against his mind, and they couldn’t do anything other than stand beside him and watch the fight unfold, two of the world’s strongest soldiers rendered useless.

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “We won’t let that happen. We won't let anything happen to you. If this thing you were looking into, if it can help, then maybe we should talk more about it.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “You mean that? You’d be okay with it?”

Bucky nodded. “It won’t be easy, and I’d want to know everything about it before you did it, but yeah, anything if it helps you.”

Steve cleared his throat. “And I think it might be time to talk to a therapist again, too, and maybe call the doctor, let her know how you’re really doing.”

Tony swallowed, his voice quiet when he spoke. “Yeah, I think you’re probably right.”

“We got big shoulders,” Bucky said. “Don’t forget that. You can always come to us—always.”

“Bucky’s right. Hearing what you said today—that scares the hell out of me,” Steve said. “I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on. Please don’t keep things like that to yourself anymore. If you are feeling like it's getting to be too much, find one of us— _find anyone_. We can’t lose you.”

Tony leaned into Steve’s side, the larger man wrapping an arm around him. “I’ll try.”

Bucky gave Tony's leg a gentle squeeze. “That’s all we’re asking.”  

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. I am planning more things, some lighter, some angsty. I just write what comes to mind. Thanks for reading. I'll be nervously awaiting what you think!


End file.
